This early on a weekday the bar's parking lot was empty; something the Highlander had counted on - no cars outside, meant no customers inside. What he had to say to a certain Watcher wasn't for the ears of strangers. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly-lit interior after leaving the early morning sunshine outside, but he spotted movement across the room almost immediately. "Hey, MacLeod!" Joe called out in greeting from behind the bar, lifting another fresh bottle of gin from a crate at his side. "It's a little early for a drink, isn't it?" "A little," he admitted, sliding onto one of the bar stools and folding his arms in front of him. He got right to the point. "I need some information, Joe. If you can't give it because it means breaking a confidence, or something along those lines, I'll understand." He had the mortal's full attention now. "Okay, shoot." Duncan tapped the bar top absently for a moment. "I'm not sure how to say this, but has Richie said anything to you lately about something that might be worrying him? Another Immortal... money problems...anything?" "He hasn't said a word to me. Hasn't even come by for over a week. Why, is the kid in some kind of trouble?" "I wish I knew, Joe," Duncan confided, running a hand across his forehead. "Maybe I'm overreacting - being the mother hen that Richie accuses me of sometimes." Joe gave a small shake of his head and lowered himself carefully onto the adjacent stool. "I know you, MacLeod. You don't overreact, and you didn't come here on a whim. The kid's got you spooked. Did you come right out and ask him what's going on?" "I've tried, but he's barely said a dozen words to me this week. He comes in, works with the books, handles whatever needs handling in the dojo, and goes home." "Richie hasn't been talking?" Joe said, eyebrows arched. "Now I know something's wrong." The Watcher's attempt at levity raised only the barest of grins from the worried Immortal. "That's not all of it, Joe. I went to his place early this morning and he wasn't there. He showed up looking like he'd been in a fight, but he didn't remember any of it." "Maybe he just didn't want to tell you what happened," Joe suggested. "No. I could see it in his face. He wasn't lying, he was scared, and so tired he could barely see straight. It's a wonder he made it home." The Scot knocked on the bar with his knuckles in frustration, then eyed Dawson closely. "How much do you know about Richie's Watcher?" Joe leaned heavily on the bar top, taking some of the weight off his prostheses. "All I need to know. He's a good man, MacLeod. He's been in the organization for nearly fourteen years - in my division for eight. 'Course he's only been on Richie for the last five months or so, just since the kid got back from France." "Would he talk to you about what might be going on?" "You want me to find out if he's seen Richie with another Immortal?" "I want you to find out if he's seen anything that might explain why Richie goes to bed every night and wakes up looking like the walking dead the next day. I wouldn't ask, Joe, but--" The Watcher raised one hand to forestall him. "You don't have to explain. I'm worried about the kid, too, from what you've said - it must be something serious if he's so close-mouthed about it. Usually, if there's something he feels he can't talk to you about, he comes to me." "I know, and I'm glad you're here for him, Joe. It's hard for me to remember what it's like to be his age and just starting out." "Hey, it wasn't yesterday for me, either, but I think I know where the kid is coming from. He just wants to do the right thing and sometimes he's not sure what that is. And, sometimes, he's just worried about you." Duncan's head came up at that. "Why would Richie be worried about me?" "Beats me, Mac. Maybe for the same reason you're worried about him," the Watcher retorted with a knowing smile. "Okay, Joe," Duncan replied, with a small smile of his own. He rose, resting both hands on the bar. "You'll let me know if you find out anything." "Count on it." The Scot nodded and turned away toward the door feeling better than he had in days. Now the ball was in Joe's court. Joe was on the phone to Richie's Watcher within the hour, leaving a message asking the other man to drop by for a drink. Of course 'asking' was merely a courtesy: as the head of his division, Joe could call in any one of the operatives in his region, at any time, and they knew it. Most of the lunch crowd had come and gone by the time Cal Simms arrived just after two p.m. "Hey, Cal. Thanks for coming," Joe said, ushering the other man to the now-empty bar and signaling to the lead waitress that he didn't want to be disturbed. "You said it was important, Joe," Simms replied, draping his trenchcoat casually across the seat to his left and climbing onto the end stool, where he leaned on the bar and sat rubbing at one temple. Joe took in the fair-haired Watcher's bloodshot eyes and slumped shoulders with a vague sense of uneasiness. "Long night?" "Yeah," Cal muttered, running a hand across his eyes before focusing his attention on the elder Watcher. "What can I do for you, Joe?" "This isn't official, Cal. I just want to ask you a few questions about your current assignment." He tossed a handful of ice into a glass and poured a healthy amount of Scotch into it, then slid it across the counter. "Ryan? My reports are pretty up-to-date on him," Simms said evenly, though he failed to hold the other man's gaze. "Is there something in particular you wanted to know?" His hand curled around the glass and he raised it, taking an appreciative swallow. "Well...I have reason to believe the kid may be in some kind of trouble, I just don't know what that trouble entails. I thought maybe you could fill in some of the blanks for me." Simms' eyes returned to his then drifted back to his drink. "This is off the record, Cal," Joe assured him. "I have my reasons for asking or I wouldn't put you on the spot like this." "Off the record, huh?" "You've got my word on it." Simms gave a small, tight smile and took another drink from his glass. "That's good enough for me, Joe. What do you need?" "Another source I have reported that Ryan's been behaving strangely lately, even for an Immortal. Coming and going at odd hours, sometimes covered in blood. Now, from what I've found on the database, there haven't been any new Immortals in town for weeks, and your reports don't mention any fights for Ryan lately - with mortals *or* Immortals." Cal gave a heavy sigh, hesitating fractionally before saying, "I can explain that." "I was hoping you could." "Maybe I'd better rephrase that. I can explain *what* he's been doing, but not why. I'd like the answer to that one myself." "You wanna run that by me again?" "It's a little complicated," he hedged, taking a long swig of his drink. "Your source was right; the kid's been acting strange, not like himself at all. I think I might have missed the first couple times it happened - these early morning excursions of his, that is. Usually when Ryan turns in for the night that's the end of it. I hang around for another hour maybe, then head home. The first time I realized something wasn't right was a week ago Sunday. I showed up a little earlier than usual and nearly bumped into the kid. He was walking fast through the alley behind his apartment building with his head down. It was pretty obvious that he was trying to be inconspicuous - which was almost funny considering all he had on was a pair of boxers." "That's it?" "That's it...and a lot of dried blood. I ducked back out of sight and watched him sneak in through the back door. I didn't spot him again until after lunch. His routine after that was pretty normal...until that night." "Oh?"' "Yeah. Well, I was curious, you know? So I stuck around after his lights went out. I was about to hang it up and go home when he comes strolling out of the building just as neat as you please and heads off down the street - fully clothed this time. He was moving at a pretty good clip, too. I had to really hustle to keep up with him." "So what did he do?" "Well, it was pretty obvious after a mile or two that he was headed for the bay, so I took a few shortcuts to get ahead of him and find a good vantage point. Sure enough, a couple minutes later he shows up. Now I figure he's meeting someone there. I mean, why else take off in the middle of the night, right? Only he doesn't look around or even slow down, he just heads right for the bulkhead, climbs up on the edge, and jumps in. No please or thank you, he just disappears over the side like it was the most natural thing in the world to go swimming in forty degree water at 3 a.m." "Did you stick around after that?" Joe asked, fighting to maintain his position of apathetic observer. "Yeah, of course. I raced over to the edge trying to catch a glimpse of him, but it was about thirty feet down and dark as pitch. He wasn't splashing around though, that I would have heard. I used my little pocket flashlight to scan the surface for him, but nothing. After a good thirty minutes of searching the waterline, I thought I was going to have to close the kid's file after all - what with the currents pulling toward the shipping lanes. Then I hear someone swearing a blue streak down by the breakwater. I hunkered down in the bushes and after a little while Ryan comes limping by me. He must have been frozen solid; the wind was really gusting that night - it was bad enough standing there bone-dry, like I was." Simms paused in his storytelling to take another drink. "After that it was pretty much a repeat of the night before; he snuck into his apartment building and didn't come out again until morning. I know, I stuck around all night to make sure." "So why not put that in your reports? Why all the mystery?" "I was going to write it up, Joe, but it sounded crazy, even to me. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't missing something that might have explained it all...so I waited. It wasn't until a couple nights ago that I think I figured out at least part of it." "Go on," Joe urged. "Okay, it started out like the others. Lights out, I wait, the kid makes a late-night appearance. Only this time he doesn't go far, just stands on the corner outside his building like he's expecting someone. Only I know he isn't, so I stay put. After about ten minutes this car turns onto the street and starts his way. I never saw anything like it, Joe. The kid didn't move a muscle until the car was almost up to him, then he steps out in front of it, fast. The driver slammed on the brakes, but he couldn't stop in time. I never saw anybody get hit by a car before, and I hope I never do again," Simms said heavily, hands clenched in front of him. "I thought after all the beheadings I've seen over the years that nothing would ever affect me like that again. I was wrong." "You said you figured something out," Joe prompted, and briefly laid a comforting hand on the other man's arm. "Yeah. I, uh, I got a good look at his face when the headlights hit him," Cal continued, pulling his thoughts together. "His eyes were...well, empty. He looked right through me like I wasn't even there." He stopped again, locking gazes with his senior. "I've seen that look before, Joe. I had a cousin who had somnambulism when we were kids - scared the crap out of me on a camp-out once." "You think Richie's sleepwalking? Is that really a possibility?" "Hell, I don't know, but if he doesn't snap out of it soon somebody's going to find out what he is." "What about the driver? Did he see how badly Ryan was hurt?" "The driver?" Cal echoed with a harsh laugh. "The guy didn't even stop. He peeled out of there so fast he was burning rubber. It turned out to be a blessing, though; at that hour of the morning the streets were deserted. It wasn't too difficult to get him inside out of view so he could heal without an audience. That was out of line, I know, but..." Simms looked contrite for only a moment, then knocked back the rest of his drink and gazed up at the other man. "I'm only telling you this because we're old friends, Joe. If this shows up on my file I could lose my position, or at least be pulled from this assignment." "Don't worry, Cal. Like I said, it doesn't go beyond this room. But, in the future, you might want to be careful about getting involved with your Immortal. It can be habit-forming." Joe grimaced inside at the hypocrisy of his advice. This was quickly becoming one of those dreaded 'do as I say, not as I do' scenarios; luckily Cal didn't know that side of it. Simms nodded, accepting the advice at face value, and pushed his empty glass across the bar. "Thanks for the drink. I hope I filled in some of the blanks." He got to his feet and draped his trenchcoat across one arm as he turned toward the door. "One more thing," Joe said, and Simms turned back to face him. "Why risk it? Why with this Immortal?" he asked, pitching his voice low, mindful of a few stragglers sitting across the room. Cal shrugged and broke out in a wry smile. "I like the kid. And he's so damn young, Joe. He's just a babe in arms compared to the rest of them. I just want him to have a chance, you know?" "I hear ya." Simms gave a rather lethargic wave and headed out. Joe stood lost in thought for several minutes, then gave the bartender the heads up. "I'm going out for a while, Dave. Keep an eye on things." He was moving towards his office and the rear exit before the other man had a chance to do more than nod. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Duncan gave up on his half-hearted attempt to clean the loft at the sound of the elevator rising behind him, its gears moaning and squealing their dissatisfaction with their job. His stomach clenched when he saw Joe behind the grating and took in the grim look on the Watcher's face. Although his mind told him to step forward and lift the gate for the other man, his feet seemed rooted in place and he watched as Joe handled the chore himself. "I thought I'd come to you this time," the silver-haired man said by way of greeting. "I saw Richie downstairs - the kid looks like he's on his last leg." Duncan nodded and sat down heavily on the arm of the couch, legs straddling it. He waited for Joe to settle himself in the nearest chair, then plunged in. "Did you speak to Richie's Watcher?" "I did, and he had some pretty interesting things to say." "Such as?" "Well, for starters, Richie's problem isn't another Immortal." "He's sure?" Duncan asked, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed by the news. At least another Immortal was a tangible adversary, and one the Scot was familiar with. "He hasn't let the kid out of his sight much the past week. If there was another Immortal dogging Richie, he would have seen some trace of him. Besides, from what he told me, none of Richie's injuries resulted from a fight." "What exactly *did* he tell you, Joe?" "Get a hold of yourself, MacLeod...the kid's been a busy little bee. Seems his new pastimes include early morning swims in the Sound and leaping in front of moving vehicles." "What?" Duncan droned, staring at the other man as if he'd lost touch with reality. "Why would he do that?" "Your guess is as good as mine. You don't think Richie's got Immortals and super-heroes mixed up, do you?" His attempt at a quip had Duncan scowling. "Tell me what he said." "He said he noticed Richie coming in early one morning, inadequately dressed and bloody. He played on a hunch, stuck around the next night, and caught the kid leaving the building after light's out. He followed and watched Richie try to drown himself - or at least that's how he read it. Since that night, he's seen a number of what I would describe as attempted suicides...or they would be, if Richie weren't an Immortal." "He also admitted that he'd intervened a few times," Joe added reluctantly. "Intervened?" Duncan asked suspiciously. "Moved the body out of sight," Joe expounded. MacLeod's raised eyebrows had him adding acerbically, "Hey, what can I say? It probably happens more than anyone wants to admit. After all, if an Immortal dies in public he has to relocate, which means either you give up that assignment or relocate with him. Some Watchers actually have families, MacLeod. Picking up and moving half-way around the world is a little more than an inconvenience for some of us," he said defensively. "Point made."